“Hey. Hey. I have an awesome idea,” Sera said suddenly, having rolled slowly onto her back until her head and part of her shoulders were hanging off the edge of the couch. “We could… we could totally set Dorian up. With one of our, our other friends. He’ll cry less, we’ll drink less, everything will be great.” “… Sounds doable,” Evelyn burped. “But who?” “Urm.” Sera frowned. “What about Thom?” “Naaah. He’s too much of a sad puppy. He’ll make it worse.” “Bull?” “Think he’s banging some waitresses right now. At least two. At the same time without either of them knowing. It’s like some serious spy shit.”

Dorian had scarcely read through the first chapter when a shuffle of footsteps stopped outside his nook. He glanced up, a little warily, then set the book down on his lap in surprise: it was General Cullen, of all people, still in his military uniform, the khaki pressed to razor edges, the collar blood red against his throat, the gold star of his rank bright and high over his sleeves. “General,” Dorian greeted Cullen, when Cullen seemed to hesitate. Hells, but the man was ridiculously handsome, more so than Dorian had expected: it wasn’t just the uniform, at that - there was something deliciously attractive about a gorgeous man who was utterly unaware that he was gorgeous. “Something the matter?”

"Maker save me from you Southern chantry boys." Dorian shakes his head, rolling his eyes and not seeming like he minds being oggled all that much. "You believe in the Maker?" Cullen asks softly, stunned at the idea. He knew there was still a chantry further north, but the idea of them worshipping the same Maker Cullen does is difficult to grasp. "Don't you?"

Playing designated driver is not Dorian's forte. Luckily, he's got some sober company in the form of the second most attractive friend in the group--after himself, of course. Dorian's not sure why Cullen comes to these parties. He doesn't drink, doesn't socialize, he even goes to work with most of these people! There has to be a reason though, right?

There's nothing wrong with a little online flirting. Cullen hardly ever expects it to go anywhere even if he really does like the man he's been chatting with for over a month.

Shortly after Arthur is resurrected in the 21st century, he finds Merlin's vibrator. That's it. That's the plot.

15 texts that were never sent in Westeros.

Obito snatches up the abandoned bottle, jogs three steps, and hurls it with all the force he can manage at the back of the white-haired litterer’s head, snarling, “Hey, asshole! It’s called recycling!”

Dorian Pavus is a successful, single, and frankly frustrated author of Young Adult fiction. His work largely concerns the experiences of gay and queer teens, and he always, always gives them hopeful endings, despite his own life not delivering on that part. When he's invited to host a writer's workshop at a shelter for young people, he meets its caretaker, Iron Bull. Iron Bull admires his work, and then some. Dorian isn't quite sure how, but this becomes a Thing.

When Tobirama returns with the drinks, Madara glances up, flushes slightly at the sight of him, and tries valiantly, if pathetically, “Do you drink milk? It certainly did your body good.” It takes effort not to throw the tray at him.

A snowstorm forces Cullen, Bull, and Dorian to confront the history they share. Together they find a new way forward.

Dorian enjoys being fingered while Bull watches television and Bull certainly has no complaints.

(563): Maybe he's one of those feminine men who fucks like a god then makes you fantastic crepes afterwards.

It’s not his proudest moment, but Sakumo takes one look at the newest occupant of the gym and walks into a wall.

“Oh?” Orochimaru asks sweetly, trying to judge the room they're in. Some sort of military headquarters, predictably. “They let me keep my doctorates? How kind. But I assume this wasn’t a test of how many low-level guards I could put in the morgue—” “Three,” the younger soldier standing at Danzō’s shoulder cuts in, righteous anger darkening his features. “Three in the morgue, six in the hospital.” “Oh my, you caught me on an off day.” Orochimaru gives the young man his best flirtatious smirk. “Come back tomorrow and I promise, I’ll at least double both counts.” (Or, that Suicide Squad!AU no one asked for and no one wanted, but I wrote anyway. I'm not sorry.)

Matt has a plan to get Shiro laid; Shiro has a lot of misgivings about this. "Shiro. Buddy. I swear on everything I hold holy—" "You're an atheist," Shiro points out. "—I swear on the grave of Carl Sagan and in the name of Neil deGrasse Tyson," Matt says, not missing a beat, "that if you go home alone tonight, it'll be your own personal decision and not because you won't have other options."

“-my mother was not Lyanna fucking Stark!” Jon exclaimed, before turning and kicking, vehemently at the sofa, enough to leave brown dustmarks on the purple cloth. He turned back to her, lifting a finger threateningly. “I don’t care what you say. But our father would never- never- sleep with his sister, in fact I don’t even know why I’m telling you this because guess what, Sansa? You should already know that!” [Sansa tries to tell Jon who his mother is. Jon thinks he’s an incest-baby. Which........ isn’t wrong.]

Mei laughs, rich and throaty, and takes the glass from her, tilting it up to her lips and taking a long swallow. Then, perfectly careless, she drops it over the arm of the chair to shatter on the floor, gaze never wavering from Kushina. “How about I help you in return, sweetheart? That dress looks uncomfortable. Take it off.”

Their first date is objectively pretty great. But later, when Bucky comes after Steve slides inside him and slaps him on the ass, Steve knows this is going to be fun.

Sakumo loses a bet and has to cover the fashion beat for a week. It's not nearly the trial he expected it to be.

For a prompt on my Tumblr: Playboy!Orochimaru who ends up with Single Dad!Sakumo in the end. No understands what happened.

“He’s hot, isn't he?” Izuna asks, stealing one of Tobirama’s pens. Entirely distracted by his thoughts, Tobirama grunts in agreement, then realizes exactly what he was confirming and snaps his head up to glare at Izuna. Izuna just laughs in his face, and Tobirama groans and presses a hand over his eyes.

Obito recognizes the divine messenger immediately.

Kurenai looks thoughtful. “So you want help picking someone who will annoy him?” “I want help picking someone who will give him an aneurism,” Asuma corrects, because he’s always been a fan of go big or go home. “Pissing off the mayor seems like a bad idea,” Raidō ventures after a moment, but he’s already looking around the lunchroom, scanning for targets. Asuma snorts. “I'm not pissing off the mayor, I'm pissing off my father,” he says. “Despite what he wants to think, there is a difference.”

Mikoto does not want her elderly relatives trying to pick out her future husband. Kushina has a brilliant idea. (Oh no... she's hot.)

Smothering his amusement, Tobirama leans up, a few inches further than the other teacher can manage, and plucks the wayward student down from the tree he’s attempting to climb. Settling back, he flips Naruto upside down, dangling him under one arm, and asks Iruka with a smirk, “I believe this is yours?”

Noctis Lucis Caelum is evil, and he loves it when Prompto's body is a slave to his music.

Eijirou ignores the thousands of notifications he has—as an extremely popular "fitness" model on Instagram, the constant onslaught is just background noise to him at this point. His latest post is doing extremely well, but that was almost a given, since it was an especially risqué photoshoot with a company that makes leather body harnesses. Their newest chest harness (in red, of course) is particularly good for highlighting one of his best assets—his pecs. The message in question, from Instagram user @candocandid, is only a few days old: Hey! Wow, thanks so much for the follow back?! Totally wasn't expecting that haha -- Midoriya Izuku is a popular Instagram photographer who is just as pretty as his photos, and Eijirou wants a piece.

“Very well. I’m going to tell you straight up — when you told me you hadn’t remembered that episode at all, it was a red flag. Given everything else you’ve said up to this point and how you reacted to recalling it and what you’ve said about your general coping mechanisms —” “Coping mechanisms?” “You might not know it was that, but you’ve used a lot of them. And this is where I tell you that repression or suppression of traumatic memories is very common, when discussing child abuse victims. Especially male ones.” He doesn’t know why his first instinct is denying it. It’s fucking ridiculous. He went to a guy who’s a fucking authority on the subject because deep down he knew that could be the issue, if he even thinks about that one memory he wants to throw up, since he remembered that he hasn’t been able to walk near dogs without wanting to jump on the other side of the road, it’s been two months and he’s gained a new awareness of how unhealthy his entire life was until he broke it off with her — And still, his first instinct is telling him, it can’t be?

And now he’s just… how the fuck is he even supposed to talk to Tyrion in his life without blurting hey, you know what, I’ve just discussed a few things with my therapist and guess what, I let her ruin your life, too, and I didn’t understand how much, and I didn’t even hear you out when you tried to tell me and you had half my fucking years, will you ever forgive me for that? He has no fucking clue. He has no bloody fucking clue, and fine, that is why he’s pretty much unable to think of anything else, but it still doesn’t mean he had any right to be a fucking arse to others.

in which Jaime has A Very Sound Plan when it comes to his family's objections to his marriage with Brienne.

Alistair would really like for everyone to stop acting like he and Zevran are dating. Where do people come up with this stuff??? For an anon on tumblr who wanted 1,000 words of Alistair and Zevran being That Couple. :)

ROLLINS STONE MAGAZINE In this issue Six of Crows: From break-ins to breakout stars, the band talks overnight success, music and madness, and everything in between. Eddie Spaghetti once said, "Rock and roll keeps you in a constant state of juvenile delinquency." That would explain a lot, as the dynamic within the band can only be described as a decidedly more aggressive version of The Breakfast Club. Namely: a lot of banter—most of which involves a lot of stinging and acerbic one-liners that are just waiting to be immortalized by the internet, enough hijinks to send any authority figure running, and a whole lot of waffles. (or, the band au no one asked for but which I wrote anyway)

Obito gets one look at the firefighter taking off his coat and almost drops his end of the gurney on his foot.

MSNBC Breaking News: Heir to Stark Fortune Snubs Merger with Billionaire Walder Frey; Frey Retaliates with Vicious Attack on Twitter.

The reason Wei Wuxian had told him to look at this on the plane, Lan Xichen realizes, is that Lan Xichen will find it difficult to murder him from cruising altitude. Or, Lan Xichen finds his dating life taken out of his own hands.

Dark eyes catch his from across the room and Nie Huaisang pauses as Jiang Cheng spreads an arm across the back of the couch he occupies alone, idly swirling his drink in his other hand. The lush fabric of the sofa looks almost magenta in this light and plays beautifully off the deep purple and sharp lines of Jiang Cheng’s suit, making him a splash of vibrancy in a room otherwise dominated by boring blacks and muted tones. The sofa is also the sole piece of furniture in the room, besides the bar and the high tables. The message is unmistakable: this is Jiang territory, and everyone else is a visitor. Receptions are good for seeing and being seen, and Nie Huaisang likes what he sees at this one.

The first time Lan Huan sees him, he thinks it’s a trick of the light. The sea glimmers like translucent pearls off of the man’s pectorals, polishes his long wavy hair like jet. But the most fascinating part of him must be the thousands of tiny glittering scales lining his lower abdomen, down, down, down to a pair of translucent olive fins that shimmer like gold in the summer light. Lan Huan breathes in, but the salt spray somehow tangles in his lungs. (Mermaid AU)

Lan Zhan has been in love with his best friend for nearly a decade and despite his attempts, has never managed to confess. Now that Wei Ying's lease is almost up, there's a chance he'll be moving in with him soon, and Lan Zhan isn't sure that's something he'll survive... The impending stress leads to a drink, which in turn leads to a desperate Reddit post that goes viral and attracts attention and advice from... well, none other than Wei Ying, resulting in a series of failed attempts at getting Wei Ying to realize just how Lan Zhan feels about him.

It’s possible that letting go of this crush on Wei Ying would have been easier for Lan Zhan if he didn’t know that Wei Ying and his lover, Mo Xuanyu, often took thirds to bed. It is almost certain that letting go of this crush would have been easier had Lan Zhan not become one of them.

The cascade of events that lead to this moment—Nie Mingjue in a mesh crop top and billowing pants and a snake shaped chain that connects the neck bit to his trousers, good god—started, like all chaotic things in Mingjue’s life do, with Huaisang. With Huaisang’s new boyfriend, to be precise. And Huaisang’s boyfriend’s brother’s boyfriend’s brother. Who just happened to be Mingjue’s high school almost-sweetheart. - in which Huaisang has an art show, Xichen wears a suit, and there are. Shenanigans.

This AU invaded my brain last night while I was trying to fall asleep, so here’s a bullet list of headcanons so I can get them out of my head/record them somewhere for potential later usefulness. Born out of me reading a thread on Twitter (that I of course can’t find anymore) about the punk group active in Chicago (I think? probably more than one city, but specifically where the author lived) in the ’90s that was organized specifically to keep fascists out of punk clubs. Just zero tolerance for bigotry at punk shows, threw them out of the club immediately, with violence as necessary.

@stultiloquentia correctly pointed out to me that I forgot to include our discussion of LWJ and WWX’s fashion in my headcanons post from yesterday, which was a grievous oversight that must be corrected, plus I’ve had some more thoughts that need to be recorded.

Xiao Xingchen’s hip jerked toward the wand, but against the wide fix of the spreader bar between his knees, he had little leverage. Song Lan just moved the wand with him.

This has to count as some sort of sexual harassment, right? It’s got to be his idea of a joke, to subject Jiang Cheng to this “massage parlor”…! Massage parlor Jiang Cheng’s left buttcheek, this place is clearly sketchy as hell! If his masseuse doesn’t ask him if he wants a “happy ending” tonight, Jiang Cheng will gladly eat his shoe. -- Jiang Cheng has a Happy Ending

“All you need to do is be a good boy. Can you do that for me?” With Lan Wangji’s eyes covered, Wei Wuxian cannot help but take note of the way it highlights his other features, such as the gentle slope of his nose, the sharp angle of his jawline, and his plush full lips, just waiting to be kissed. “Yes,” Lan Wangji replies, a beat quicker than usual. He tilts his head up in a silent request. “Wei Ying?” Wei Wuxian crawls up Lan Wangji’s body until he hovers above him, close but not enough to touch. Despite still being fully clothed, Wei Wuxian can feel Lan Wangji’s bare skin radiating heat. “What do good boys say when there’s something they want?” “...Please.”

Wei Ying had been saying something. “I didn’t even like him! It’s just --” “His dick was so big, yes, you’ve said. Several times.” Lan Zhan’s voice was a little strained, probably because he was holding him up while they waited for the elevator in Wei Ying’s building.

Wen Qing: okay so like Wen Qing: were either of you going to warn me Wen Qing: that Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian were Like That? Jin Zixuan: oh no Lan Wangji: I take it you had your first Family Dinner. Lan Wangji: I apologize for the lapse.

Mingjue’s thumbs stroke gently against the wings of his shoulders as he leans in, setting his mouth to Jiang Cheng’s ear. “Qingqing wants this, too. All three of us. You, me, her.” A shudder runs down Jiang Cheng’s spine; he’s dizzy, breath coming too fast, and he’s shamefully hard just from this, his erection trapped against the edge of the sink. “Would you like that, Cheng-di? It’s fine if you don’t, but if you do –” “Yes.” The word rasps out of him, echo-y and desperate. “I want that.”

“Let’s play a game,” Xingchen says. Song Lan and Xue Yang share a look.